The Paper Route
by UnholyHelbig
Summary: After Emily Junk runs her bike into the side of a black Cadillac, she gets thrown into a world of underground trade while a mysterious woman turns her life upside down. [Aka the AU where Aubrey Posen runs the Mafia, and Emily Junk falls for her]


**[A/N: I saw this AU on a website for prompts, and I kind of elaborated on it. Hopefully, you guys enjoy it so far, it's not going to be super long. But please leave some reviews and let me know if I should continue. I've never written Junksen before!]**

 **Every thought was** in high definition, pounding against the inside of her mind. The noises of the room weren't familiar in the slightest- a dull and monotone beeping that was slowly becoming accelerated, the mumbling of a group of people that seemed to be far away, but more importantly, the shifting of leather. Leather from a seat, from a jacket maybe. But it was loud, Emily decided.

She blinked a few times, dumbly, if anything. The ceiling had a tile feel to it, ones that reminded the young girl of her high school. As it got older, the teachers would allow their homeroom to pull them down and put their own artistic spin on them. Many would paint on dates, or relationships that wouldn't last a month past graduation. But Emily had optimistically painted a sunflower in a field of green grass.

Now, it was dull, a blue haze coating the room. There was a television on, that much was clear. It The lights danced against her view as she drew in a careful breath. It smelled of antiseptics and cheap air freshener. Emily's fingers curled into the paper-thin sheets that rested under her touch.

She registered that it hurt; everything was throbbing in tune with her heart, a strong brace near the corner of her elbow reaching down all the way to her fingertips. She wanted to move it, test out her mobility, but it was almost like she was begging for five more minutes.

"Don't try to move," The voice was smooth, young, Emily instinctively shooting up.

She should have listened to the stranger. The cords quickly pulled at her tender skin, they were monitoring her heart rate, sticky edges of sensors tugging relentlessly against raw areas. Her shoulders ached, her head pounding as she glanced around the small room.

There was a large window with a blue couch positioned under it. A laptop was plugged into a nearby socket, casting that aforementioned blue light with that of the muted television. Some late-night talk show was on. The door leading to a milky hallway stood a few feet from the bed.

It wasn't any of that that startled Emily, instead, it was the woman who stood near the edge of her bed. She was a stranger. Not one that dawned dark scrubs, or a doctor in a lab coat; no, this woman wore a simple black t-shirt and had long stretches of ink burned into her skin. Emily couldn't' see them from here, but wanted to know the story behind the thickets of thorns and, was that a crow?

She had a slender and strong figure, blonde tresses falling over broad shoulders. She was strong, arms resting on the plastic baseboard of the bed. Her eyes were an unripe green, casting grey under the navy glow. She had perfect lips pursed and her chin lifted. Emily drew inhaled, air icy.

"I told you not to move." The woman was calm with her words, though they carried a bit of a comedic tone.

Emily dug her back further into the mattress, eyes blinking a few more times before she realized just how dry her throat was. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a low growl, one that would be considered sexual in some situations if her stomach wasn't churning so much.

The blonde woman seemed to understand the rapid movements as she reached onto the brown nightstand, picking up the dull pink plastic pitcher and dripping some cold water into a plastic cup- the kind that was small and crumpled easily. Emily struggled to pull herself up, the woman watching with patience. She somehow knew the smaller of the two wouldn't accept any help.

She hungrily grasped at the cup that was held out in front of her, sighing into the drink as she gulped it down until her throat was appeased. Long drips methodically streaked down her neck and soaked into the blue gown that was decorated in little flowers. She realized she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Thank you," She husked, running her fingers over the edged plastic of the container. It was a nervous habit, one that filled the room with a soft sound.

She nodded "No problem. Do you remember what happened?"

Emily wracked her brain. _Had she seen this girl before?_ No. That was impossible, she would remember someone like this. She wasn't forgettable. Her daily routine, that of delivering papers, was enough to introduce her to all the early risers. She would plug in her earphones and zone out the rest of the world, working for her uncle's company for the morning before she would walk dogs the rest of the day.

The last thing she remembers was slamming into something- hard. A black El Dorado that was stationed between two alleyways. Its lights were off, and her bike was shattered just like her arm. But she had blacked out after that. Waking up here, here with some model level stranger.

"I hit a car," Emily said plainly, it was almost a question.

There was an odd sense of pride that filled her at the strangers. It was an odd thing, craving the approval of someone she just met. It wasn't immediate, but it was there. There enough for her cheeks to heat up the second the woman lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

"Oh god, was that your car?" Emily suddenly rushed with an explanation.

"My car?" The woman chuckled, a light sound, "No. Not mine. My fathers."

"Goodness." Emily pressed her fingers instinctively to her hairline. She winced quickly, fingers meeting the sticky tape that held gauze over a bruise. She hissed, clenching her eyes shut. "Damnit."

"Easy tiger." A small whisper "You took quite the fall."

She stranger instinctively ran her fingers over the elaborate tattoo sleeves on her delicate skin. The woman was biting back her words, not saying something she quite wanted to. It was like she was guilty, guilty about something that Emily couldn't' quite understand.

"you didn't have to stay." Emily finally mumbled, words soft. She appreciated the company, even if it was unspoken. The woman looked like she had quite the set-up, a few work papers that Emily couldn't' quite read spread across the opposite edge of the couch.

"I was asked to. My father, he wanted me to be here when you woke up." She clenched her jaw. "Conrad Posen isn't a man you question, love."

The term of endearment was enough to have Emily's whole chest flush a bright red, even if she could keep the blush away from her cheeks, the rest of her body was another story. This woman had a strange effect on her. "I crashed my bike into New York's most prolific lawyer's car?"

The woman pursed her lips, lifting her chin slightly.

"Oh, my stars, _I crashed my bike into Conrad Posen's car._ " Her eyes flashed up to the emerald ones of the woman. They were kind and soft, and God, not those of a lawyer. Though, the Posen's ran a family business. She had seen the older man in court, but not for a long while.

It was mainly based from rumors or retirement, though, his old billboards still littered the streets with it's faded yellow number slathered near a black background. His eyes were beady, and his smile was forced. Did he even practice law anymore?

"You certainly did," She narrowed her eyes, "You and your paper route effectively derailed one of the biggest bank heists this city has ever seen."


End file.
